


Art Hoe

by my_unlikely_hero



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Drugs, Im in love with an art hoe, M/M, Will Add More Later, Wish me luck, art college au, artist!andrew, artist!neil, consentual drugs, does anyone actually read my tags?, im gonna try and write something normal for once, sorry - Freeform, wheres kevin? I don’t fucking know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-05-09 09:29:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14713505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_unlikely_hero/pseuds/my_unlikely_hero
Summary: Temporary title.Neil and Andrew are art majors; Neil draws, Andrew paints. Aaron is still a doctor because he’s smart as fuck. Matt is just. Matt. Bless him.Kinda funny, kinda cute, less angsty than usual. :)





	1. Chapter 1

Everyone, blame this song: https://youtu.be/XzjKM7f04wo for the inspiration. 

 

“Hey, fuck you.” 

“Aaron, calm down it’s not-“ Matt tries to placate but Aaron and Neil keep arguing like they don’t hear him. 

“That’s not how it works, Hatford!” 

“Why can’t Winter Soldier be his own team? He barely remembers who Steve is, why would he pick a side when he barely understands what’s going on?” Neil doesn’t understand. 

Matt sighs this time. “He remembers Steve, he has to-“

“Just because he mentioned a few things? I don’t think so. If he remembered, then why did he waste all that time hiding out and eating plums?”

“I don’t know, ask the Russo brothers!” Dye flicks onto the mirror with how Aaron waves his arm. His hands are covered in purple goop that will hopefully dye Neil’s hair silver. His roots had begun to show that morning, and Matt had found Neil having an anxiety attack in the bathroom over it. “Maybe he saw Steve and it all came back. So he remembers Steve, and is obviously Team Cap.”

Neil snorts. “Amnesia doesn’t work like that.”

“How would you know, smartass?”

“I’ve had amnesia. It took me a few weeks to remember everything about myself and my mother.”

“Bullshit,” Aaron exclaims, the same time Matt mumbles an “oh no.”

“No, really. I was thrown out of a car. I have a scar.” 

“Of course you were. I’d throw you out of a moving car too, if I didn’t think Matt would break up with me for it.” 

Neil scowls. “It’d probably be fine. I mean, I think I would probably live, unless I get ran over.” 

Between them, Matt looks horrified. He has his hand to his mouth, and he’s staring at Neil unblinking. 

“Right,” Matt swallows. “Right, you guys just- nevermind. I’m gonna go process that and think about Neil’s terrible, terrible life.” 

Aaron calls after him, “you can’t keep having an emotional crisis every time Neil reveals something horrifying about his tragic backstory.” 

“Asshole,” Neil pouts. “Are you done yet? I swear you take longer each time we do this.” 

“You have a lot of hair, this is going to take a few minutes. We should have cut it beforehand, but I didn’t think about it.” 

Neil just shrugs. “I like my bangs.”

“I can still cut it after the dye is done. It is, technically, a formal event. I’ll cut it after you shower.” 

“And why do I have to go to an art showing? It’s not mine. Mine is next week.” This week the painters got the gallery, and next week it would be Neil’s pencil sketches on the walls. Semifinals are a bitch. “I don’t even have the last pieces done. I need two more for showing.”

“Because Andrew is showing tonight.” 

“So? I asked why _I_ have to go.”

“If I have to suffer, so do you. There, done. Set the timer.”

“Thanks.”

Aaron has become a pro at hair dying in the eight months that he’s known Neil. Or rather, in the eight months since Matt all but adopted Neil. There’s not a single smear on Neil’s worn shirt, though it’s already covered in stains from previous attempts. Pinks and purples and blues and yellows. No orange or red though. Neil was picky about colors. The silver was new, Neil hadn’t worn silver yet, Aaron doesn’t think. 

Matt has a nature documentary about penguins on tv, and Aaron calls in Chinese takeaway for dinner. On the nights that Aaron helps Neil dye his hair, Neil buys them dinner as a thank you. Uncle Stuart moves more money into Neil’s bank account than Neil knows what to do with, so he doesn’t mind buying dinner for them every week or two. Uncle Stuart doesn’t mind either, he thinks it’s good for Neil to spend money on things. He calls it retail therapy, which is funny because Allison calls it that too, when she takes Neil out on all-day shopping trips to every clothing store in Columbia. She refuses to clothes shop in Palmetto, so she drives Neil the hour and a half to the next city. 

Neil’s stash is in a box under the couch. Matt stretches back to open the windows behind them and Neil lights a joint. There are other things in the box, too; a bag of mushrooms, watermelon flavored rolling papers, a spare lighter; The unused pain pills from last year’s incident. 

“Did you take your meds today?” Aaron asks suddenly. Neil’s prescriptions are on the coffee table in front of them. 

“I don’t like them. They’re not working,” Neil mumbles around a mouthful of smoke. He passes the joint to Matt. 

“You still have to take them. They need time to start working, and you need to take them every day.” Aaron already sounds like Neil’s Doctor. 

“Maybe it’s something you can talk with your doctor about.” Matt sounds soft. They always worry too much. Neil is fine, and he’s better off without the meds. The stupid things just make things worse. His nightmares get worse and he doesn’t sleep, he gets twitchy and paranoid. 

“Take the damn pills, Hatford,” Aaron says. 

“That’s why I have weed, asshole. So I don’t need the fucking meds.” It calms him down, instead of getting paranoid like he heard some people do. 

“I will sit on you and shove them down your throat.”

“Why do I even let you come here?” Neil glares at both of them, and Matt holds his hands up in defense. “Smoke my pot, give me shit about my mental health like you two are any better. Bastards.”

“Because you have good tv and a better apartment,” Matt smiles. He nudged Neil’s ankle. 

“Fuck off. I’ll take them with lunch.” 

They don’t wait long for delivery. Aaron and Neil have something spicy, and Matt has orange chicken. Neil has to stop to wash the dye out of his hair, and he shaves in the shower. He put a towel over the mirror the first day he moved in and hasn’t moved it since. He trusts Matt and Aaron to tell him if the color looks good, and if not he has some violet dye in the bathroom. 

“It looks good. Like, really good. You should be a fucking model, Neil. Serious, if I wasn’t in a committed relationship…” Matt trails off ominously. He knows that Neil doesn’t swing. Aaron shoves at his shoulder. 

“Oh, are we ignoring the large, disfiguring scars? They’re pretty hard to miss.” Three long cuts, two stretching across his cheek and the other from below his eye to his mouth. There are round burn marks from the dash lighters on his opposite cheek. He had a medicated cream to put on them to reduce scarring but he didn’t want to check his reflection to see how it was working. 

“You’re in a mood today. That the meds, or did you have a bad morning?” Matt asks. Neil would rather he didn’t, so he ignores the question. 

Aaron trims his hair after, and buzzes the sides and back short. Neil trusts him to make it look ok, and even if Aaron fucks it up Neil wouldn’t really care. Even before he had gotten the scars Neil hadn’t really cared about his appearance. But Aaron had spent years cutting his own hair, and eventually Matt’s too, so Neil was sure it was fine. 

After haircuts are done and cleaned after, Matt takes Aaron to their own apartment, and Neil lets the cats out of the bedroom. He has to put the cats away when he does his hair or else they try to play in the dye. Sir goes straight to the food bowl, but King follows Neil and attempts to curl up on his chest when Neil lies down on the couch for a nap. He manages an hour before the nightmares wake him again, and then Allison is calling him. It takes a minute to snap out of the memory recall and recognize the song that Allison had set as her ringtone. Neil doesn’t know how to change it. 

“I was sleeping,” Neil grumps at her. King takes offense to the noise and jumps down. He kind of wants her to come back. 

“Sorry boo; I’ll bring Starbucks.”

“Oh. You’re coming over?” Had he made plans and forgotten? 

“Yes. I have an outfit for you to wear tonight, and I want to do your hair. Also, I found a new thing you might like.” 

_Thing_. Pot, probably. Allison was kind of an elitist when it came to smoking; she only smoked the best, most expensive weed she could buy. She has made it her hobby to find strains for Neil to try, tailored to his nightmares and mental health. 

“Okay. Drive safe, there’s a speed trap by Lincoln.” 

“Thanks, boo.” 

She hands up with a click of her nail. Neil yawns and gathers the trash still scattered from lunch. Aaron left one of his jackets again, and Neil hangs it by the door. Allison kicks the door and Neil opens it for her. Her hands are laden with coffee and bags of clothes. Neil takes the coffee gratefully. He takes it to the couch and opens a window so he can light a cigarette. 

“Hi kitty kitties! How are my god children? Is daddy Neil grumpy today?” Allison always says hello to the cats first. 

“Hey,” Neil tries to smile at her, but he’s exhausted. 

“Hey sweetie. You look exhausted. Want me to cover the bags under your eyes?” 

Neil shakes his head. The makeup feels funny and it makes him break out. Allison sets the bags on Neil’s dining table (it came with the apartment), and her purse on the coffee table when she comes to sit down. She takes her heels off and then rummages through her purse. 

“Voila!” She waves a bright pink tampon tube with a flourish. She keeps her joints there sometimes. Her nails click when she lights it. “It’s good, right? You can have that one, and here.” She hands him another prerolled. He thanks her and adds it to his stash box. 

Neil stretches until his back pops. “Are you going to the show tonight?”

“Of course. Renee has some painting on the wall, but she wouldn’t show me what they were. It’s a surprise, I guess.” 

“Aaron’s brother paints too.”

“I know, they’re in the same class she’s actually friends with the monster, for whatever reason.” 

“Monster?”

“Andrew is a monster. Seriously, do you ever listen to me? I complain about him all the time. He comes over to hang out with Renee, and he’s a psycho. I got into a fight with Aaron once, and the monster almost killed me.” 

“Huh.” He doesn’t understand why she sounds so upset. He’s had people try to kill him more times than he cares to count. 

“You’re not listening, that’s fine. Whatever. Can I do your makeup?” 

“No. I guess you can do my hair if you want. Aaron dyed it for me.” 

“I know, I noticed! I love the silver on you, very pretty. I have glitter hairspray in one of these bags, you’ll look so pretty with it.” 

He doesn’t mind. They finish smoking and Allison puts on music. In the bags are hair product, and Allison takes nearly a half hour primping Neil’s hair with a straightener and gel and some hairspray. His shirt is covered in glitter when she’s done, and when he rubs at his face his hands come back glittered too. It takes another ten minutes to wash the glitter off of him. 

She brought him skinny black pants and a purple shirt and tie. It’s semi formal at best, but they’re artists. Nobody really cares about attire except for the professors. 

“You look amazing, boo. You should really see yourself. For someone who wears hobo clothes half the time, you clean up nicely. You have the whole hipster vibe going, I love it. I want to get you suspenders and fake glasses.” 

“No, that’s not happening. Why would I even wear suspenders? I have a belt. You know this, you picked it out.”

“Oh Neil, you fashionless little pigeon. I adore you.” 

“Thanks.” He wasn’t sure that was a compliment. 

Allison changes into a pale pink suit and does something different with her hair, with complex braids and a lot of that glitter hairspray. She always looks beautiful, Neil doesn’t know why she bothers. 

When she’s done, Neil leaves with her, only just remembering to grab a jacket on the way past. Allison drives. The gallery is packed and the show in full swing when they arrive. Allison leaves to find Renee’s work and Neil lets himself slowly wander the show. He prefers pencil, he likes being able to stare at each line and admire the movements. But paint is different, he can’t follow the strokes with his eyes the way he can pencil. There are portraits and landscapes, and beautiful work. But Neil feels out of his element with the other students around him talking about blending and brushwork. 

He stops at a series of black and white paintings. They look like photographs, every one of them shaded with greys. A cupcake with a single crooked candle melted almost entirely, the flame gone and whisps of smoke rising. A whiskey bottle on it’s side, fingers hovering above it. There are others, all done in scales of black and grey. What snags his attention is the last piece. 

It looks like a closeup of a car window, from the outside. Raindrops and fog sit on the glass, and in the mist is written ‘smile’, next to a lopsided and creepy smile. The lettering round and uneven, reminiscent of the blood writing from horror movies. The ‘e’ trails off, half finished, like the writer had been pulled away. The condensation dropped down from the letters. It was an eery painting to look at, and the details were incredible. Neil wants to touch it to make sure it isn’t a photo. 

“That’s Andrew’s.” 

Aaron appears beside him. Neil hadn’t noticed him walk over. 

“They’re amazing. He’s really talented.”

“Thanks grandpa,” a third voice adds. Neil turns around to see an Aaron look-alike walking their way. Dressed all in black, he looks the very picture of tortured artist. There are bags under his eyes and he smells like cigarettes. His hair is different than Aaron’s, longer and fluffier. His shoulders are wider, his arms thicker. 

Andrew looks to Aaron. “Who’s the art hoe?”

Aaron smirks like he wants to laugh. “I thought he looked like your type. Neil Hatford, I’ve told you about him before.” 

“No, you’ve complained about him before. Bitch nonstop about his hair dye killing his last few remaining brain cells.”

“I’m right here, assholes,” Neil gives the pair a sour look. 

“Didn’t ask. That’s my jacket,” Andrew nods at the black jacket Neil was wearing. It’s the one Aaron had left behind, and Neil had grabbed at random when he left the apartment. 

“It’s Aaron’s. I grabbed it on accident.” 

“And Aaron stole it from me.”

Beside Andrew, Aaron rolls his eyes. “It was an accident. One time.” 

“Your body spray smells terrible, you should have been able to smell the difference between our clothes.”

Neil sheds the jacket and offers it to Andrew. Andrew stares at him for a few long seconds, and then takes his jacket back. Neil sees Andrew is wearing armbands beneath his shirt. 

Andrew is still staring at him, his expression perfectly blank. Neil speaks to Aaron instead. 

“Have you seen Renee’s? I think Allison said she had some here.” 

“Over there,” Aaron thumbs over his shoulder. 

“Thanks.” Neil slips away from them in the direction Aaron had pointed. 

 

********** Andrew **********

 

The show had been fine. He had sold twenty plus prints, altogether. Number 73 had sold the most tonight; the silhouette of Aaron and Matt kissing, with Matt holding Aaron up. It’s aesthetic and cute and people liked it. Half the people kept asking who the models were. They assumed it was a straight couple and Andrew’s main entertainment had been telling the homophobes that it was two men. 

Meeting Neil had been interesting. He had to hand it to Aaron, his brother knew his tastes. Neil was pretty enough, he had big blue eyes and thick lashes. But he was scarred and _interesting_. And something in the way Neil walked- like he was ready to run, and the way he eyed the exits and kept just out of arm's reach; all of it suggested a man used to running, someone worth Andrew’s time. 

The students had to stay and clean up the gallery afterward, and it took a couple of hours to put away the art and the tables, to sweep the floors and mop, and whatever else needed done. Of course, Andrew had made his necessary appearance, had done the minimal amount of work and was fucking leaving. He needed a cigarette so desperately that his hands shook. No doubt he would smoke through the rest of his pack before he got home. He will have to stop and buy another carton. 

The cigarette is lit before he is even outside. His smoke lingers in the hallway, with no moving air to push it around. He wants to go home and dive into a carton of the chocolatiest ice cream in the freezer. 

The rest of the painters should be inside and the viewers are all longs gone. But there’s a short figure walking across the parking lot. Andrew watches as the shadow passes the parked cars in the lot and turns onto the sidewalk. He hadn’t vandalized the GS. Not Andrew’s problem, then. His car was an actual piece of art and Andrew was protective of it. Only Renee has the spare key now, since Aaron moved in with Boyd and they share the truck, and Nicky is long gone. And Renee uses Allison’s car anyway. 

The GS is the most expensive thing Andrew owns. The Columbia house is in Nicky’s name, and Nicky, Erik, and Aaron had been the ones paying for it. Not technically Andrew’s. He had spent his inheritance on the car and custom paint. It had come in a matte black, and after Andrew had been released from rehab he had spent a week painting in the grayscale designs. Flowers that looked like knives, a hoard of walking skeletons hidden throughout the entirety of it; swords and armor, and enough grey blood to make it look like rain. Drugs and smoke and fire. It was beautiful, but it was painful enough that Bee had frowned when she saw it. 

It was all her idea, venting his rage and pain through art. ‘ _Turn it into something beautiful,_ ’ she said. ‘ _Something better._ ’ 

Something easier to look at. 

She hadn't said it, but he knows that’s what she meant. Art is supposed to make you feel but people buy pretty things and everything Andrew paints just eases the numbness. What Andrew feels, is not something that’s pretty to look at. Neither is his art. He sold more prints of his Color Period than he did anything else, and those were the most painful to him. Four years on the drugs, four years of neon paint being splashed impatiently onto canvas; stupid, empty art that could have been made by a toddler with broken crayons. 

Andrew only stops the car because he recognizes Neil as the figure walking down the road. He’s hunched over, still in his event clothes, walking with his head down. Andrew slows and rolls the window down. 

“Did you annoy Aaron into leaving you here?”

Purple shoulders shrug. “No. I think he thought Allison would take me home, since she brought me here. But I think Allison thought Aaron would be taking me home. They both left, but it’s fine. I can walk.” 

“You’re walking five miles to your apartment?”

Andrew knows that Neil lives away from the cheap, shitty apartments surrounding the college. The nicer apartments are farther away, on the other side of town. And he only knows that because Aaron is obviously jealous, and he and Boyd spend half of their life in Neil’s apartment. At least twice a week they stay in his guest room. It’s the only time Aaron doesn’t complain about his back being stiff. 

“It’s not that bad.” 

“In the middle of the night, walking through the shitty part of town. You’re just asking to get mugged.”

That makes Neil frown. Andrew was never one for sugar coating things. “I can handle it.”

“Stop arguing and get in.” 

Neil looks like Andrew just told him he was going to shove Neil in a windowless van and reenact the Saw movies. 

It’s pathetic. Andrew scoffs. “I’m not offering you poisoned candy, get in.”

“You apparently know where I live, and you’re offering me a ride in the middle of the night. Forgive me if I’m a little cautious to accept.” 

“You’re my brother’s best friend. Aaron would never shut up if I killed you. I’d have to kill both of you, and then Boyd just to stop everyone’s complaining. Too much work. So you’re safe for now, come on.” 

Slowly Neil nods.


	2. Chapter 2

Neil’s apartment is nice enough. Neil had invited him up for coffee and a smoke as a thanks for the ride- that, and the icecream he had bought Andrew at the gas station.

The floor is entirely made of a dark hardwood, and the walls are a warm cream trimmed with dark brown. Not what Andrew would have picked, but whatever. The windows are large, but they’re all covered with thick curtains except the two directly behind the couch. The furniture looks new, too. Two chairs help circle a big coffee table. A large flat screen hangs on the wall. The walls are blank, no photos or posters or art, which is unusual for an art major. Even Andrew has a few of his favorite paints and posters hanging. 

The whole thing looks impersonal. It smells like coffee and pot and cats. Which is good, because that makes it less alarming when Neil starts making kissy noises. Two cats come running out from the bedroom, their paws making a soft _patpatpat_ on the floor. 

“You couldn’t be more cliche if you tried.” The drugs, the cats, the tragic/mysterious backstory. Neil Hatford was an angsty-teen-romance book character. If it weren’t for the scars and the fact that Aaron had basically adopted the idiot, he wouldn’t be interesting enough to hold Andrew’s attention. 

Andrew throws himself on the couch and opens the windows behind him. One of the cats- there are two, a calico and a tortoise shell- jumps onto the couch and sniffs at Andrew. The other is more cautious, staying beneath Neil’s feet and staring at Andrew. Her tail is crooked. Neil bends to pet her but stops when she bends away to avoid him. He stands without touching her. Interesting. 

“This is King Fluffkins, I call her King. That one is Sir Fat Cat McCatterson.” Neil sits by Andrew and gives Sir a pet. King eyes them from the kitchen. Neil hands Andrew a spoon he had fetched. 

“What the fuck.” It’s not even a question. 

Neil sighs like he’s heard it before. “Some of my young cousins named them.”

Andrew just stares at him around a mouth full of icecream, looking entirely unimpressed. 

The silence is Neil’s cue to grab his stash, and he lights one of the joints Allison had given him. He takes a long drag and passes it to Andrew. 

“Thanks for the ride.” 

“Next time I’ll let you walk.” 

Neil rolls his eyes. He lights a cigarette and waves the joint away when Andrew offers. He doesn’t want to get too stoned around a stranger, even if it’s Aaron’s brother. The tv is still playing the channel Matt had left it on twelve hours before; Neil leaves it on during the daytime, for the cats. 

Sir settles herself onto Andrew lap, which is funny. Neil brushes the girls daily, but they still shed and the hair stands out against Andrew’s all black attire. But Andrew doesn’t complain. He lets her sniff his hand and scratches gently behind her ears. Sir presses her face into his leg, looking content. Sir is the friendly one, King was far more cautious, especially of strangers. Neil thinks she was abused, but Stuart had never mentioned it. 

Uncle Stuart never told Neil where he had gotten the cats from; one day he had called and shown up with King in her arms and hoisted her onto Neil. Something about giving Neil a reason to stick around, something to watch over and be responsible for. Neil didn’t understand, but that was fine. He didn’t mind King, even at first. She was quiet and independent, as long as he kept her fed. She hadn’t let him pet her for weeks, and Neil had let her choose her own pace. Until one day, more than a month after her arrival, Neil had been kneeling on the floor suffering from an anxiety attack and King had slowly lowered herself into Neil’s lap. Sir had joined them later when Neil had found her on one of his runs, wandering alone on the dirt road. She had been tiny and muddy and wet, and had been mewling pitifully. Neil was glad a predator hadn’t found her. 

The joint gets snuffed out on the ashtray when Andrew has had enough, and he snags Neil’s cigarettes from between his fingers. He has his own pack, but Neil doesn’t mind. He watches Andrew take a drag, the smoke curling off his his fingers. Andrew’s hands are art worthy; his knuckles are thick and scarred, hands strong looking. It’s very picturesque, with the cigarette held firmly between two fingers. Neil wonders if it would be rude to have Andrew stay while Neil draws it. 

The lights play on Andrew’s face, the dull light from the dining room mixing with the moving lights of the tv and cast moving shadows on Neil’s face. The artist in Neil wants to turn off the dining room light and draw the shadows on Andrew’s cheeks. 

But it’s late, and Neil has two drawings he needs to do for next week that he hasn’t even started. Andrew doesn’t overstay his welcome. He finishes his icecream and leaves it on the coffee table before he stands. Smoke moves around them, lingering from the cigarettes and pot and making a haze around them. 

Neil stands to lock the door behind Andrew, and Andrew lets himself out. 

“See you around.” Andrew gives him a mock salute and closes the door behind him. 

After the door is locked and bolted, Neil grabs his sketch pad and pencils and settles onto the couch. Out the window, Neil watches Andrew walk to his car and the GS drives away. The art on the body is indistinguishable, and Neil wishes he had gotten the chance to observe the details earlier. 

If Neil sits exactly like he had been earlier, he can imagine Andrew’s hand perched in the air, halfway between to his lips. With the picture in his mind, Neil begins outlining his picture. 

It’s easy to lose himself in the sketch. Neil doesn’t worry about sleep, or finding an excuse not to. He doesn’t have to worry about the nightmares that plague him. He has something productive to work on, something that he likes doing that he can distract himself with. 

Morning comes while Neil is beginning the details. The sun peaks into the window and illuminates the smoke in the air. He likes to get high while he draws, it makes it easier to concentrate on the drawing instead of getting distracted. That happens a lot, where Neil feels the need to move around and run, where his attention starts to wander and he can’t sit still even to do the things he actually likes, like his sketches or Spanish class work. One of his old therapists had suggested medication for ADHD, but Neil was tired of the woman pushing prescriptions on him. The pot helps his anxiety and mellows his ADD, so why would he need three medications to do the same thing?

He is still drawing hours later, when Uncle Stuart calls him. It’s pure luck that Neil’s phone is charged. 

“Good afternoon, Neil.” His uncle knows that Neil hates being called Nate or Nathaniel. 

“Afternoon?”

Uncle Stuart scoffs. “It’s nearly one there, have you been sleeping all morning?” 

“No. I-“ Neil doesn’t want to say that he’s been up all night, lost in his head and his drawing. “I’ve been working on some things for the show next week.” 

“Oh, you have an event? Would you like me to go?” 

Stuart tried to be present for things, Neil has learned. It’s a struggle to get used to, a man that not only refuses to hurt Neil, but also insists on helping him and actively participating in Neil’s life. 

“You don’t have to, it’s only midterms. It’s fine.”

“It’s your work in a gallery, Neil. I would like to be there. It’s what family does.” 

Neil shrugs. It’s kind that his uncle is offering, really. But Neil is still adjusting to the whole ‘family’ thing and sometimes Uncle Stuart can be… too much. 

“I went to one last night,” Neil tells him. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“Oh, did you see any pieces you liked?”

“There was this one painting. I’m friends with the artist’s brother.”

“That’s nice. Did you buy it?” 

His uncle is always trying to get Neil to spend more money. Supposedly it helps Neil get used to being a normal person, to buy things that he wants instead of saving money for fake IDs and roach motels; stretching every penny. 

“No.” It seems frivolous, to buy something to hang on a wall just because it’s nice to look at. Mary would not have allowed it. She hadn’t bought Neil so much as a single sketch pad after they left Baltimore and she burned all of his drawings from extracurricular art. 

“You should, of it makes you happy. You’re allowed to buy things that make you happy, Neil. We can certainly afford it.” 

That was another thing; it was never just Uncle Stuart’s money. It was always _our_ money, or Neil’s money. And he never once lectured Neil about buying anything. He had gone so far as to buy Neil a car when he enrolled in Palmetto, a flashy silver Bentley that just gathers dust in the underground garage. 

“I’ll think about it,” Neil concedes. At least he knows who he would be giving the money to. For some reason that helps the thought. 

“Please do. Thank you for checking in with me,” even though Stuart had been the one to call. “But I’m afraid if I keep you much longer you will be late to your appointment.” 

Therapy every Saturday. The latest therapist was Mrs Rosty. She was obsessed with fish; at least six fish tanks lining the walls, fish stickers on the walls and bookcases and desk. She always spoke in fish metaphors and asked Neil to draw fish that ‘described how he felt’. He didn’t understand how he could relate to any fish, much less a specific fish. As if Neil knew anything about fish. But his uncle insisted that he give her a few weeks before Neil moves on again. He’s been through five already. Rosty is his sixth, and Neil knows that his uncle is getting impatient with finding Neil suitable help. 

Neil says a quick goodbye and has to rush his shower. His hands are covered in graphite, and probably his face too. It’s a warm summer day but Neil wears a hoodie over his shirt so his arms are covered, and he can pull the hood up over his face. Supposedly that was something that Rosty wanted to work on, Neil’s ‘self image issues’. It wasn’t that Neil thought the scars made him ugly, he doesn’t care about that. But they draw more attention to him than he likes, and people stare at his scars when he doesn’t cover up. 

It’s raining, so Neil takes the car instead of walking. He would risk walking anyway if it weren’t absolutely pouring rain, and the thunder rumbling overhead. So he takes the Bentley out and ignores the people he can feel staring at him. The traffic is slow going with the heavy storm, and Neil watches the dash clock as he becomes late for his appointment. He throws the car in park and holds his hood over his head as he runs inside to escape the wet weather. 

He’s fifteen minutes late. 

“You’re late,” she says like Neil didn’t notice. 

“Traffic.” 

“Because is the weather?” 

Neil shrugs. 

“Use your words, Neil.” She sounds impatient. 

“I don’t mind the rain.” 

She sighs, and looks over at her fish tanks. “Today I feel like we should try discussing the things you’ve been avoiding. Your mother and father, the woman Lola you mentioned, your scars. I want you to think about how you feel regarding the incident in Baltimore.” 

Her words stop Neil’s heart. The fear nearly astral protects him from his body, and with a few pointed names Neil is shutting down. 

“No,” he chokes on the world like acrid smoke. 

“If you don’t talk about, you can’t get over it. It’s been a year, Neil. It’s time for you to get over your fears.” 

He doesn’t know how she knows some of these things, he hasn’t mentioned Baltimore or Lola, certainly not his mother and father. Some of that she could have read in the news but that just reminds him that everybody already knows. Everybody knows who he is, they know what happened to him, and the thought pushes him over the edge of panic into the black abyss. 

It’s called dissociating, he’s been told; that feeling of there-but-not there, like the lights are on but nobody’s home. Neil stands there uselessly as the memories hit him in an assault. He can smell the blood, and cement, and gun smoke. 

Neil doesn’t know how long he stands there before he runs, but when Neil comes back to himself he’s outside in the rain. He’s not at the office complex anymore. His car isn’t in sight but his phone is in hand. He’s staring at the call screen but doesn’t remember dialing. 

“Neil,” Aaron snaps. His name is on the screen. “Neil, are you there? Come on.” 

The words catch in Neil’s throat. He swallows thickly. The scars on his arms and face hurt. 

“Can you come get me?” He can’t feel his lips moving. 

“Where are you?” 

Neil shrugs, forgetting Aaron can’t see it. 

“Neil? You have to tell me where you are so I can come get you.” 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t recognize anything in the houses around him. 

“Shit. Just. Drop a pin. I showed you how to do that, remember? Send me your location like I showed you.” 

Neil responds without thinking. His fingers are shaking on the screen. 

“Okay I got it. I’ll see you in a minute just stay there.” 

Neil hands up. He buries his head in his arms like that will keep him grounded. But seconds or hours pass before a car is stopped in front of him and someone is kneeling at his side. He recognizes the pale hair and hazel eyes. Aaron is here. 

Hey, Neil. You okay? Are you hurt?” 

“‘M fine,” Neil manages. 

“Anxiety attack?” 

Neil doesn’t know. He doesn’t say anything. 

“Okay, that’s okay. Can you breathe with me? I know it’s hard, but try. In-“ Aaron guides Neil through his breathing. 

Neil hadn’t realized that half of the pain in his chest had been because he had been holding his breath. The breathing helps, he thinks. Maybe. It’s hard to tell when his body doesn’t feel like his right now. 

“Better?” 

Neil doesn’t care enough to answer. It’s too much effort. He just wants to be alone in the dark, safe in his apartment. 

“Okay, Hatford. We can’t stay here all night.” 

The sun is setting. How long had Neil been running for? How long had he been sitting here? His legs ache, and they’re stiff. 

“Come on, I’m taking you home.” 

Neil lets Aaron take him to the car both because he doesn’t care enough to fight, and because he doesn’t know where he is and doesn’t want to walk back. Aaron puts Neil in the backseat. Andrew is driving and Aaron is sitting shotgun. Neil rolls down the window and leans against the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cute, right? Far less angsty than usual, I know. Don’t worry, I have more comin up soon. But honestly, I had no idea where this fic is going. I’m sort of just going with the flow. So if anyone has any requests for scenes they would like to see in this AU, I would love to hear them :) you can message me on tumblr @booksaboutgay   
> I hope you liked the update! Please comment I love comments <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow ok so, I’m so sorry for the wait! This has actually been written for an embarrassingly long time but got lost in docs... so anyway better late than never!

“Jesus Neil, how long were you out there for? You’re soaked.” 

“I had an appointment.” Aaron knows Neil goes to therapy. He’s driven Neil there a few times. 

“You’ve been outside since three thirty?” 

Neil shakes his head. “I didn’t stay.” 

“It’s after seven, were you outside the whole time?” 

Probably. 

Aaron marches to the bathroom to get a towel for Neil’s hair. The idiot should probably take a warm shower, but Aaron isn’t sure he trusts Neil to be alone right now. 

Andrew opens the windows behind the couch and drops down, bouncing on the cushions. He lights a cigarette and wonders if Neil would mind if they opened up the box underneath the couch. Neil sits gingerly in the chair closest to the door. 

A towel lands over Neil’s head and he flinches. He doesn’t bother with his hair, he just puts it under his butt to keep the chair dry. Neil pulls at his wet sleeves. He can feel the scars under the cloth. He tries not to look at them, but that’s hard when they cover from his elbows all the way to his finger tips. Lola had even peeled the nails from some of his fingers, like the skin from an apple. He tries to wear sweaters and long sleeves. He cut holes in the sleeves of everything, so he can hook his thumb through the hole. It helped to keep his sleeves over his knuckles. Aaron has seen them. Matt has too, and Allison. Andrew hasn’t. 

“Hey,” Aaron sounds sudden enough that Neil flinches. He’s sitting at the other end of the couch as Andrew. “Did you take your meds today?” 

Neil shakes his head. He doesn’t like them. Aaron knows this, but still he pushes Neil to take them. 

“I know you hate them, but take them anyway. Do you have groceries or do you want me to order in?” 

Aaron’s asking too much; there are too many questions that Neil doesn’t want to answer. He wants them to leave already, so Neil can skip his meds unharrassed and stare at the wall in peace. The world will come back into focus eventually, it always does. But Neil desperately wants the twins to leave, their very presence is grating on his nerves like road rash. 

“I’ll light a joint if you take the meds,” Andrew breaks his silence from the corner. He’s holding Neil’s box of drugs like a hostage. He waves the joint back and forth in the air. 

Aaron actually shoved the dosages into Neil’s hands. He forcibly curls Neil’s fingers around the things, and Neil snaps like a cornered dog. He doesn’t want someone touching him, especially not his hands. His scars are all off limits right now, which is basically his entire upper body. 

Neil flinches back hard, pulling his hands to his stomach. He closes his eyes tightly, and a wrinkle forms on his forehead, between his eyebrows. His jaw clenched shut and he nearly bites his own tongue. 

“Neil-“ 

“Don’t touch him,” Andrew’s voice says coolly. “Order Thai for dinner. Hot curry. I’m hungry.”

Aaron leaves, but only because it’s Andrew. If anyone can handle Neil, it’s Andrew. He orders from the kitchen, leaving the two of them. He hears Andrew turn a movie on the tv. Aaron orders and when he returns, Neil’s meds are gone (hopefully swallowed), and Andrew has a joint lit. It looked like they were staying a while. 

 

**********Andrew (sort of)**********

 

He gets Neil to take his meds by glaring at him until Neil closes his eyes like he’s suffering, and chokes down the pills without water. He looks half dead with the bags under his eyes. He’s dissociated as fuck right now, but it’s good that he called Aaron instead of wandering around in the rain. More than the idiot had, anyway. Seriously, did this kid have no survival instincts? 

Andrew turns on Blue Planet because it was good as anything else. Neil stares out the window behind Andrew, at the rain coming down. It’s getting the back of the couch wet but Andrew is short enough to duck behind the cushions to stay dry so it doesn’t matter. 

The next cigarette he lights goes to Neil. He takes it with shaking fingers and inhaled slowly like he’s afraid to cough. But then he does cough, and he blinks. He stares down at the cigarette in surprise. 

“This isn’t pot. What happened to the joint?” 

Okay, that was a little amusing. At least it grounded him a little, it looked like. He’s staring at Andrew with recognition now, at least. 

Andrew takes the cigarette from Neil and trades it with the joint. Neil has to relight it, but doing something simple can help ground him. It helps Andrew sometimes. 

“Still alive,” Andrew asks after Neil has taken a drag. 

The kid nods, grey hair hair falling into his face. “Yeah. Where’s Aaron? Wasn’t he here?” 

“You’re not seeing double. He’s ordering dinner. You’re paying.” 

“Oh. Okay.” In the background, there are clownfish making a nest, their little bubble noises sound like a cats purrs. Neil looks around, expecting to see Sir or King but finding neither. It takes him at least ten seconds before he realizes it’s the television. “The fuck? Fish purr?” 

“Apparently.” 

Aaron returns from the kitchen with a bottle of water for Neil, and a soda for himself and Andrew. Neil only keeps the sodas in the fridge for company. 

“Oh, is this Blue Planet?” Aaron flops back into the couch and opens his soda with a hiss. “I haven’t seen the second one.” 

Andrew eyes his soda suspiciously. He kicks Aaron’s shin and ignores the cursed glares he gets. “Did you shake me soda?” 

Aaron rolls his eyes. “No. I’m not an animal.”

“I don’t believe you.” 

Neil watches the exchange with interest. He never had any brothers or sisters, and most of his cousins treated him like a stranger when he was staying with his uncle. 

“I wouldn’t ruin Neil’s couch just to shake your soda,” Aaron argues. 

“Trade me.” 

“No, you’re being stupid.” Aaron licks the rim just to prove a point, glaring unblinking at his brother. 

Andrew scoffs. “Like I care.” But then he pauses, as if realizing something. “Fuck off. I know where your mouth has been.” 

Neil doesn’t understand what just happened. Andrew gets up and puts the sofa back in the fridge in exchange for another. 

Aaron huffs a laugh from the couch. “Matt doesn’t mind.” 

Neil feels lost. “Matt doesn’t mind what?” 

“Where my mouth has been,” Aaron is smirking. He slurps at his soda. 

“You’re disgusting,” Andrew takes his seat again and props his shoes on Neil’s coffee table. It’s already scuffed from Matt doing the same. 

“Like you don’t fool around with Roland every time we’re in Columbia.” 

“Oh,” Neil catches up. They’re talking about sex. Not something he’s familiar with. 

One of Andrew’s eyebrows jumps up. “Oh?” 

Neil shrugs. He doesn’t know what Andrew wants explained, but it looks like he’s waiting for something. 

Luckily Aaron jumps in. “Neil’s asexual. Or maybe demi, it’s undecided.” 

“Undecided,” Andrew says. “You’re in college, you’re an art major. Seventy five percent of your classmates and peers are LGBT, surely someone is interested in helping you ‘decide’.” 

Neil runs his hands through his hair, still damp. “I’m not interested in them like that. They’re all strangers, why would I want to do _that_ with a stranger?”

It’s Andrew’s turn to shrug. The drugs are making everyone’s tongues loose. “Lots of people do.”

“Well, not me. I’m fine not getting someone involved in all of _this_.” Neil gestures to his whole self and takes a long drag from the joint before he passes it to Aaron. 

“You’re not that bad. I’ve seen worse,” Aaron passes a wide glance to Andrew, who flips him off. 

Another shrug. “Where’s Matt? I didn’t interrupt you guys or anything, did I?” 

“We were grabbing lunch after therapy.”

“Oh. Well, thanks for picking me up. I-“ he stops. “Thank you.” 

“It’s fine Neil, really.” Aaron assures him. 

“You can thank us by paying for dinner.” 

Neil nods. He can do that. He’s grateful that nobody makes him explain further. They watch the movie until Neil has to let the delivery man up, and then the room smells like Thai, pot, and cigarettes. After dinner the twins leave, after Aaron makes sure Neil is okay. And he is, Neil feels more grounded now than he had been earlier. He doesn’t feel like a ghost, but he is getting tired. He still has to text his uncle about finding a new therapist. It’s only fair, since Stuart pays for everything. But when the twins leave, the cats venture out from the bedroom and find Neil reclined in his chair. He doesn’t move for the rest of the night. 

 

**********Matt/Aaron**********

 

Aaron comes home later than expected, smelling like pot and cigarettes with cat hair clinging to his clothes. Aaron had texted Matt after Neil’s phone call, and Matt understood that Neil would need to be watched for a while, until Aaron felt like it would be safe to leave him alone. Neither of them liked leaving Neil alone when he was in any sort of vulnerable mood. 

Matt is laying on the couch watching Rick and Morty, and texting on his phone. He’s dressed in his boxers, obviously ready for bed and waiting up for Aaron. He smiles up at Aaron when he kicks his shoes off. Aaron trudges over to the couch and flops onto the wide expanse of his boyfriend’s naked back. The hard muscle isn’t comfortable at first, but Aaron lets himself melt into the warmth of it, pushing his own shirt up so their skin can touch. Aaron kisses the patch of skin by his lips and closes his eyes. 

“Neil was wondering if you made it home safe.” 

A habit he had picked up from Matt. Matt always asks people to text him when they get home safe. It had perplexed Aaron when they first started dating, but it was nice to know that somebody cared. Neil, prone to mimicking normal human behavior to supplement his limited knowledge of healthy human interactions, seems to adopted the gesture. 

“Congrats, Neil has mastered basic communication skills,” Aaron mumbles into Matt’s shoulder. He can feel matt laugh beneath him. 

“Our boy is growing up,” Matt pretend sniffles. 

“ _Your_ boy. I voted we left him in the gutter where we found him.”

Matt bucks his hips up to jostle Aaron. It has the opposite effect, with Matt’s ass grinding up into Aaron’s hips. “Can’t lie to me, I know you.” 

“I dealt with today’s crisis. He’s your son tomorrow.” 

“ _Ours_ ,” Matt insists. “Adoptive custody.” 

“Joint custody, Matt.”

“But we’re still together, babe?” 

“I’ll marry you just to divorce you,” Aaron is deadpan. 

“Aww babe!” 

Matt nearly throws Aaron off when he rolls over onto his back. Aaron glares, but silently resituates himself across his boyfriend’s chest. He likes putting his head on Matt’s chest so he can hear him breathe. It’s relaxing. Matt puts his arms around his hips and rubs a hand up Aaron’s back. 

“Are you going to fall asleep on me?” 

Aaron hums. He might. He hadn’t known he was that tired until he lied down. But he had his session with Andrew and Bee, and then lunch afterwards. That usually left him feeling drained or pissed off, depending on how the session went. And Neil had been on the other side of town, and calming him down took hours. He was surprised that Andrew had been helpful, Neil had responded well to whatever trick Andrew had used to get the idiot to take his meds; Aaron makes a note to ask Andrew what it was. But of course, he was still stoned from the weed, so that was making him drowsy on top of today’s chaos. 

He feels Matt gift him up, and Aaron clings to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?? Should I keep going?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [of nightmares and dreamscapes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16042949) by [my_unlikely_hero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_unlikely_hero/pseuds/my_unlikely_hero)




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